


Three Sisters

by grandilloquism



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: mini_fest, Gen, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-02 08:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandilloquism/pseuds/grandilloquism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Black sisters share a quiet moment during the holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Sisters

**Author's Note:**

> Posted via my kindle fire, so please excuse any resulting errors. Beta'd by d_andru on lj.

Narcissa fled the ballroom, the long skirts of her robes tangling and tripping her up before she could regain her balance. Her palms slapped the marble floor with more noise than force, and she was on her feet again in a matter of seconds, gathering material in both fists and sprinting for the huge double doors. She was fifteen, and she had just been kissed.

Her feet took the familiar path up to the third floor without any clear decision on her part, running up stairs and down corridors that were progressively more deserted. She was on familiar territory— Swan’s Hold, her father’s house, and she was more grateful than she could say for the advantage. She slowed down for the final corridor, and slipped through the door and up a final, spiralling staircase. Above was a round little room at the very top of the house, with views of the sea. It was dark, wood-panelled, and familiar. Paper and wire gulls hung from the ceiling, and jars of seashells competed with other trinkets for space on the windowsills. A velvet settee perched on a worn Persian rug facing two mismatched armchairs, a low table between them piled with parchment, quills and ink, books, tubes of oil paint and old brushes, and a tall, cylindrical glass vase full of branches— wintersweet, holly, fir, and pine.

The room was occupied. Bellatrix lounged in the shadows, odd and striking in white robes, her dark hair for once orderly in a heavy bun threaded through with white ribbon, a few sleek curls hanging artfully around her face. Cosmetics made her thin mouth full and red, and accentuated her dark eyes.

“Bella,” she gasped, her breath coming fast. It was dark in the room, the only light from the nearly full moon shining through the many windows, but she still saw the interest quicken in her sister’s face.

“Cissy,” her voice was soft and low, “what’s happened?”

“Malfoy,” she spat, her voice shrill by comparison, “he kissed me.”

Bellatrix snorted, “I had wondered who you were saving it for. Did you have a nice time?”

She’d regained her breath, and added, “He cornered me in the garden and stuck his hand down my front.”

Her sister’s amusement abruptly faded. “Tell me no one saw you.”

Narcissa held no illusions that Bellatrix’s concern was for her personal well-being, but, rather, for the family’s reputation.

“No,” answered a voice from the stairs. Narcissa had left the door open behind her, and Andromeda had taken advantage of the darkness to approach without attracting either of their attention. Bellatrix produced her wand at the unexpected noise, but relaxed when she recognized their sister. “But everyone saw her run through the ballroom like the Wild Hunt itself was after her.”

Bella leaned back on the settee, pulling up her skirts to expose pale feet and bare legs. Narcissa settled awkwardly in a chair; Bellatrix would by twenty in less than a week, but Narcissa had several inches on her and felt gawky by comparison. “There’s that, at least.” She waved an imperial hand. “A little excitement will do them well— as long as it’s left to conjecture, of course.”

Andromeda wore an empire-waist rose silk gown, her soft brown hair coiled and pinned in a jewelled knot at the base of her neck. Her eyes, usually kind, were aloof, with none of the amusement that could spark even the worst of Bellatrix’s rages. “Father is furious.”

“Father is drunk,” Narcissa replied, acidly. “He won’t even remember this, come morning.”

“Mother will.” Andromeda sunk to the floor; clearing off a space on the table. She crossed her arms over it, tapping her long nails against the battered wood. “As will the hundred-odd other guests and family.”

Narcissa couldn’t bring herself to care— it was her breasts the Malfoy heir had groped. She arranged her dusky blue robes so she could tuck her feet up under her. Oddly, she considered, her first kiss had made her feel younger, not older, and she felt the age gap between her and her sisters keenly— Bella’s betrothal negotiations were nearing their desired end, and sweet, shapely Andromeda had enjoyed several flirtations. “If Malfoy has any sense he’ll keep quiet. He hardly comes out the gentleman.”

“Somehow,” Andromeda said dryly, cradling her face in her hands. “I don’t think that’s his priority.”

Bellatrix smiled toothily up at the ceiling, and the paper birds on their strings, “I’ll take care of Malfoy.”

“You can’t maul him, Bella,” Andromeda chastised, sounding bored; some of her anger obviously faded. A mirthless smile pulled at her mouth. “Not permanently, and there’s no fun if we can’t leave something for him to remember us by.” Both sisters looked at her, and she adjusted the already impeccable fit of her robes. “He did grope Cissy.”

“Ta, Dromeda.” Narcissa uncurled to stretch out a slippered foot and nudge her sister’s shoulder.

Andromeda brushed the spot the shoe had touched. “Don’t mention it. Maybe I’ll arrange for something unpleasant to be put in his drink, in any case.”

Bellatrix seemed to approve. “Keep the little upstart from getting ideas. I could make a few suggestions.”

“I know you could, Bella, that’s why I’m not giving you the chance.” In a smooth motion Andromeda pushed up from her seat on the floor and, wordlessly, called light to the sconces on the walls; they flared silver-white before settling down to steady illumination. She crossed to a small, built-in cabinet set into the west facing wall, pausing a moment to look out at the sea.

She pulled two dark velvet boxes out of the cabinet, stacked on top of each other.

“Gifts,” Bellatrix perked up. Narcissa knew Andromeda could always be trusted to provide excellent presents, and there were few things Bellatrix enjoyed more than receiving something because it was her due.

“Steady on, Bella,” she smiled, her dark eyes bright. She passed the first box to Narcissa, but she set it in her lap and waited for Bellatrix to receive and open her own first.

“Andromeda,” she said, when she had it open, low and pleased. She pulled out a silver chain and dangled it from her first finger, so the galleon-sized pendant that hung from it could be seen. It was perfect, of course; on one side was engraved a many-pointed star, and on the other a woman wearing only a quiver of arrows, carrying a bow in hand. Bellatrix, the Amazon star.

Narcissa felt a sudden sense of dread, knowing what her charm would hold. She didn’t want to be the fool who killed herself for being unable to move away from her own reflection. It was a ridiculous namesake, and she thought Andromeda had known how she felt. She opened her box, and inside was the pendant, as she had expected to see it: a delicate, crisply petaled flower. She tried to summon up a smile, but the result must have been weak, because Bellatrix said sharply, protectively, “What did you do, Andromeda?”

Andromeda held up a slender hand, “Turn it over, Cissy.”

She did, and let out a little exhalation of breath. On the back of her medallion was a winged goddess, her face beautiful and stern, carrying a naked sword in one hand and a bridle in the other. It was Nemesis; the spirit of divine retribution, the one who gave what was due, from whom there was no escape. In the myth, it was Nemesis who punished Narcissus, for his hubris. She flipped the pendant over and over in her hands, the beautiful Narcissus on one side, the implacable Nemesis on the other. “I love it,” she said, her voice very soft. She looked up at her sisters, smiling for what was surely the first time that night. “Help me put it on?”


End file.
